Downton Abbey: A Tragedy at Downton
by MaPetitBaboo
Summary: Picking up from where season 3 left off: Matthew Crawly is found under a moter on the side of the road. He slips into a coma, and they cont seem to revive him. Mary goes a touch insane, Anna is keeping secretes form Bates, Edith struggles to find a husband, and Alfred leaves Downton-for good. A nurse is called in, and trouble arises when she doesn't act very 'professionally'.
1. Chapter 1

Hi everyone!

I hope you enjoy my story! Please take a little time to review! It truly makes me happy:)\

Just F.Y.I.,

The characters: (in order of social importance)

UPSTAIRS:

-Robert Grantham: Lord of Downton Abbey

-Cora Grantham: Robert's wife and lady of Downton Abbey

-Cousin Violet: The dowager countess and mother to Robert. Granny to the girls

-Cousin Isobel: Mother of Matthew

-Matthew Crawly: Heir to Downton Abbey, husband to Mary

-Mary Crawly: Oldest daughter, wife to Matthew

-Edith Grantham: Middle daughter of Robert and Cora, not married

-Sybil Branson: Youngest daughter to Robert and Cora, wife to Tom

-Tom Branson: Former Cheveau to Downton Abbey, Husband to Sybil (gasp)

DOWNSTAIRS:

-Mr. Carson: Head Butler

-Mrs. Hughes: Head housemaid

-The Doctor: The doctor for the village (does anyone know his name? The internet couldn't tell me)

-Mr. Bates: Valet to Lord Grantham, Husband to Anna

-Mrs. O' Brien: Lady's Maid to Lady Grantham

-Anna: Lady's Maid to all three girls

-Thomas Barrow: Head footman

-Alfred: Second footman

-James: Third footman

-Sharon: Mr. Crawly's nurse

-Mrs. Patmore: The head cook

-Daisy: Newly appointed cook's helper

-Ivy: Newly appointed kitchen maid

"Stop the car!" Lady Grantham pressed her gloved hand against the well washed window of the motor. "I said stop!" She tapped lightly on the glass that separated them from the driver. Reluctantly, the Cheveau skidded the car on the packed dirt way to the side. Her husband, and earl of grantham sighed.

"What's all this about?" He demanded, "Because i am quite intent on seeing my grandchild!" For that was where they were headed. There eldest daughter, Mary, had just given life to a baby, and the doctor had phoned a few moments ago to say its time to come down.

"That, over there," Cora pointed a finger to a unmanned goods wagon a little ways off in the distance.

"Cora, I'm sure its nothing. Onward!" he called to the driver, who promptly started the motor. She turned her whole body to face her husband and gave him a look.

Robert sighed, "Oh, you stay in the car. Just in case its bandits. I will go look, but its probably nothing." He swung open the carefully washed door of his car and got heavily out. Walking to the seemingly abandoned wagon, he sighed. It was probably nothing to get in a lather about. The driver must of just had to relieve himself. He got to the edge of the roadway where it gave way to a steep incline. Indeed, an old man was there, scrambling about.

"I say, do you need assistance, my good man?" Robert called down.

"Yes, indeed i do. You must come. A chap is trapped under his car and bleeding something heavy," That message was so alarming that Robert quite forgot to be miffed at not being addressed 'his lordship'. He started down the hill right away. He was portly, but years in the military had taught him how to be light on his feet.

The sight was awful, and he was quite glad he had warned his wife not to leave the cab. A steaming car lay on top of a sprawled man, it was quite hard to see the poor chaps face with all the blood and dirt and such, but he looked well enough dressed.

I do hope it was no one coming to visit Downton Abbey, Robert thought as he grunted and heaved the car off him with the farmer. The car turned over with a groan and a spray of fuel and earth.

"Good god, it's worse than we thought!" The other man exclaimed, as it was now revealed that the man had several gory gashes along the length of his body.

"Come on then," Robert swallowed the sourceless anxiety that was building in his bones and grabbed locked his arms under the arms of the boy (with total abandonment of keeping his finely tailored Gringles overcoat neat.) , the other bloke at the mans feet. In their haste, they had quite forgotten to take a pulse, and now Robert was relieved to feel the faint butterfly wing pulse going under the man's arms. As they hacked their way back up the hill, he looked keenly into the man's features, hoping for a clue of his organs. Thats when he almost fell over. No! He thought, how could this be? For he recognized the unconscious, maimed man. It was Matthew Crawley, Heir to Downton Abbey.

Mary heard the first shout as she was gazing into the eyes of her baby. They were blue, like Matthews. The nurse told her all babys eyes start out that way, and most likely they would turn out chocolate brown like hers, but Mary hoped they would stay blue all the same. She was sitting in a silky white hospital gown in a crisp white bed (the hospital maid had just changed it). She really did love the hospital. She really loved everything, right now. It was a rather unfamiliar feeling for her.

Her practical bones were rarely full of unconditional joy. The second shout woke her baby, and he cried out in that thin baby wail of his. She rocked her baby against her breast and tried to look out the window at the same time. The loud voice was now accompanied by the clunk of wheel against cobbles as a fast driving cab pulled into the way. Nurses started rushing through her room to the emergency wing. Honestly, Mary thought with a frown, they should not put the emergency room adjacent to the maternity ward. Its just not healthy! People rushing to and for like that. She looked about for Lady Crawley, her mother in law, who she could ask. She had been here a second ago.

There was a step at the door way. Not more nurses i hope, Mary thought irritably, all the priceless feeling of a second ago dissipated. Who were these people interrupting her rest like this?! But no, it was not more nurses. Lord and Lady Grantham stepped into the room.

"Mama! Papa!" She said with a smile, "Come look at the baby." But her parents did not move. Mary felt flattered, She smiled in that sly, knowing way of hers. "You must have been through this before, what with Sybils baby. I mean its not your first..." She trailed off when she looked again at there faces. "What? What has happened?!" She demanded. Her voice could get downright intense sometimes, and at that moment, it was cranked full blast. "Mama! If you do not speak i will have to assume the worst!" Though she was not so sure what exactly the worst was. Thats when Cora started to cry. Pretty loudly too.

"Oh, its just too horrible for words," She crossed over to her daughters bed and sat lightly, and looked into her eyes. By this time Mary was quite frightened. Her mothers eyes were blue like ice, melting ice, now that there were tears it them. "Its Mathew."

Mary sat cold for a second. As chilly and lifeless as if she were carved out of marble.

"Surely you mean the dog," Mary said then. Sybil had gotten a teacup dog for Christmas when she was 11, and named it Matthew. The old wretch still haunted to house. Wandering from room to room, and begging for food occasionally. Cora shook her head slowly. Lady Mary looked at her baby, head spinning. Subconsciously, she was aware of her father coming over. Tears, hot and salty, were spilling down his cheeks, too. Seeing this, she murmured,

"Its bad, isn't it." It felt like her stomach had just been ripped out of her.

"He is alive." Cora tried. Mary thrust the child into her mothers arms.

"I must go see him."

"No," Cora said. "You have just given birth. You need rest." But even as she was saying these things Mary was pushing back the covers.

Mrs. Hughes stirred her tea. She always did love a good earl grey. She checked once more to be sure everything was in order. Pot, saucers, those little cakes Mr. Carson loves. Once a week Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson shared tea. Every Thursday, in fact. She was head of the house and he was head butler. If they ever hoped to run the great house smoothly, they had to collaborate. A shadow was cast over the room, and she looked up to see Mr. Carson filling the doorway.

"Mr Carson,"

"Mrs. Hughes," He came in and sat down in the other chair Mrs. Hughes had placed. She poured him a cup and they both sat in silenced for a moment.

"I've got several applications for that new maid." Mrs. Hughes finally said.

"Oh? Lets not make the same mistake we did with the last one,"

"Or the one before that...or the one before that," Mrs. Hughes said with a chuckle. It was a little on going joke they had. All the maids they had picked seemed to be, well, lacking in one way or another. Ethel had gotten pregnant (Mrs. Hughes still could not forgive herself for letting that come to pass), Edna had questioned the authority, and Jane had just randomly handed in her resignation. Mrs. Hughes could not know the story behind that, though.

"Actually, we may need to start looking for a new footman, too,"

"Oh?" Carson didn't just sack footmen for no reason.

"Yes, it seems that our Alfred has...well...a designer to cook."

"And he told you?"

"Yes, He said 'Mr. Carson, i want to work with food.'"

"No. How could he? We already have a cook. I'm not sure he even knows a wink about cooking. What a foolish boy. At least best to my knowledge. What does he want us to do?"

"I don't know what he wants us to do." Mr. Carson rumbled quietly. He looked deep in thought. Mrs. Hughes sat back, quite perplexed.

"I could talk to him if you wish." Mrs. Hughes offered.

"That, would be helpful, thank you, Mrs. Hughes."

"Where do you think we'll keep the baby now that-" But her sentence was interrupted by the shrill and unpleasant ring of the telephone.

"I'd better get that, please excuse me," Mr. Carson put down his half eaten cake and went into his adjacent office. A moment later He came back, face rather red. Mrs. Hughes stood up,

"What is it, Mr. Carson? Its not something to do with the baby, is it?"

"No, that was his lordship...Its Mathew." Mrs. Hughes smiled. "So excited a he had a little trip? He wouldn't be the first."

"Thats partially right, but it was a mighty big trip and he took it in his car."

"My god Matthew, speak to me." She held clammy hand. No. This was so wrong.

"Matthew," She held his hand to her cheek and let the tears slip down it. He was good looking, even when injured. With a straight nose and American teeth. His hair was her favorite though. She liked the it when the sun shone on it and lit it up like a crown. She crouched by his side by his bed in the cold light of morning and held his hand. She didn't know what else to do. SHe wished all the nurses would clear out. They had no right to witness her tears.

The sharp click of footsteps announced that the doctor had come in. She waited in agony as the doctor made his endless examination. His heart seemed to be beating. His lungs working, so why wasn't he waking up? She crept back over from the chair she had taken when the doctor came in.

"Tell me he'll be alright." She commanded.

"I can't, Lady Mary."

"Then what is wrong?" She demanded. The doctor sighed, bristling at the informal remarks. He was not used to dealing with those over him.

"Its a coma, Lady Grantham."

"That means he'll wake up, though,"

"In most cases, that is the most plausible outcome."

"So you can't guarantee anything for me."

"No, i'm sorry, Lady Mary." She went and sat down, right on the filthy floor. She started to sob quietly, holding her husbands hand under her eyes, as if it were a patch of earth she could make grow with water. The doctor, quite used to but none the less uncomfortable with the emotion of sadness, patted her awkwardly upon the silk sheathed shoulder and made his way to the other side of the metal bed, as if it were a wall he could hide behind. A nurse came back carrying a an operation kit. The tone was very busy, as all the hospital personnel rushed back and forth toting bowls of fleshy water, bloody surgery tools, or rags to stop the flow of liquids.

Lord and lady Grantham tried to concern themselves with the baby after Robert made his call, in order to give Mary a few moments alone. But as hopefully any human with a heart would do, they grew quite concerned with Matthews condition. There wills soon broke, and they too burst through the doors of the emergency ward. By now, the doctor was halfway through with the first of his surgeries, painstakingly sewing the flaps of pale skin back together with inky black thread.

Tears sprung again to the lords eyes as he watched his only son. Mary would look into the face of her husband until she couldn't bare it any longer, whereas she would fix her eyes out the window and watch the trees thrashing in the breeze. When that became too hollowing, she turned back to her husband. A little cry would escape her throat sometimes. She thought they would be together forever. And now...Mary went back to looking out the window.

Anna froze. The bun she was holding slipped out of her hands. Mr. Bates looked up inquiringly. It was a fine summers eve and there didn't seem to be anything obvious that could possibly bother his wife. Anna and Mr. Bates both worked for Downton Abbey, but lived together off site.

"Sorry," She recovered the pastry, "Someone just walked over my my grave."

Sybil and Tom were vacationing from their Dublin home at Downton abbey. This they did quite often, to the great mortification of grandmother. You see, no on approved of Tom. Its because he used to be Downton Abbey's Chauffeur. But they had fallen in love, and when Lady Sybil put her mind to something, there was little hope of dissuading her. They got the news of Matthews accident as they were coming back from a long walk. They aired the there baby nearly everyday. Mary called it obsessive and Edith called it sweet. Sybil called it necessary, as it was true Downton Abbey could get a little stuffy sometimes.

Carson came out to tell them, running at quite the pace for a man of his stacher.

"We'll go to the hospital at once." Tom decided. Matthew was a good friend of Toms. They managed the estate together.

"Let me fetch Edith, Tom." Sybil begged.

"Alright, but don't dotil, dear." As it turned out, Edith wasn't even in the house. The middle daughter of lord Grantham had gone up to Ripon for the day to see her editor about a paper. And a little something else.


	2. Chapter 2: A husband for Edith

"But can't you see that I just don't care?" Edith sat, at the verge of tears on one of the understuffed chairs in front of the editors desk. She knew it would probably end up this way, but knowing didn't dry her tears. She thought she could make him see. The truth was, Edith Grantham was madly in love with Gordon, the editor for the weekly newspaper article she wrote. Unfortunately, she couldn't make him see sense. You see, Gordon's wife was in an asylum for, well, dementia. He felt it was just wrong to re-marry.

"I don't want you to think you have to be a gentleman about this. I'm sure its all legal."

"No. Edith, you see, this is a delicate business. I love you, that is true, and I am sure if my wife was no longer present," He said the words sadly "i would scoop you up in an instant. But its just unhonest." The poor soul sighed, and Edith's heart broke.

"Please, sir, do you really think I care? I am aware of your circumstances. And I still want to be with you. That is hardly dishonest."

"Its not that simple."

"Actually, I do believe it is," Edith didn't get it. He was in love with her in Scotland. She started to say something more, but Gordon cut her off,

"Lady Edith, I want no more discussion of this today." He put no extra emphasis on the word 'today', but Edith thought he did. Quite flustered, she got up to leave.

"Well, goodbye then." She choked. The editor looked at her. She was slender, and while she was not especially beautiful, she was rather pretty. Her hair was like bronzed milk chocolate. His head tingled at the prospect of being close to her. So did his lips. But it needed to be realized that if she married her, she would be ruined forever, he be branded a bigamist, not to mention the scandal it would cause in London. And he knew how ruthless newspapers could be about scandals. He was the editor of one, after all.

"Good day. We can expect your article by Friday?" He didn't want a good reporter to go off just because of a little social issue.

"Yes, yes, of course." With that she marched right out of the stuffy little office and into the smoke filled writing room. Typewriters tapped away. Edith wondered if, maybe had she been a regular girl, just working in his office, he might be more keen to marry her. Then he wouldn't have to worry about her 'pride'. She wouldn't have a social ladder to fall from. Tears falling freely from her eyes now, the moved silently across the busy room to the coat rack, where she was surprised to find it was nowhere to be found. Edith looked around, and found a little man holding up her off orange car coat and purple scarf.

"Oh. Thank you..." She said bending down (he really was quite short) to take the necessities.

"Call me George, Miss Edith." Edith was rather taken aback at the politeness of this common day stranger. Somehow, she had always thought of the middle class as crass and rude, after an unfortunate incident when an old man spit at their car they were driving one afternoon.

"Thank you." He stared at her for a second longer than was normally acceptable.

"Do you work here?" She asked.

"No." He answered, Chuckling, and shoving his hands in his pockets. "I'm just visiting. You know editors, we have to stick together to stay in the know. I actually own a different newspaper...The Ripon Post? Have you heard of it?" Guess he wasn't so middle class, Edith thought.

Edith, of course, not living in Ripon, had never really heard of any Ripon news paper.

"No, not yet. I will look forward to, though. Knowing your the head editor." The little man clasped his hands and bowed jovially.

"I'll be off then," She started to back toward the stairs.

"You'll be back again soon?" The little man looked up and took a tentative step forward.

"Not anytime soon. I work from residence, and use the post to ferry my scripts here." For some reason, she retained the fact that her residence was in fact Downton Abbey.

"Oh. Of course." And with that, Edith hurried off. Even more confused than when she had stepped out of the editors office. She sincerely wished she had never come.

"Ivy, I wonder if you wouldn't teach me how to cook." Alfred (a footman) drummed his fingers on the countertop.

"You dolt," The kitchen assistant giggled, "I can't just 'teach you' how to cook! Especially not all in one day."

"Well, i didn't mean all right now." Alfred blushed, "I meant some by some." Ivy shrugged,

"I'm awful flattered, but if theres anyone who can teach you, its Daisy," Daisy smiled over at her friend. Ivy knew well enough of the feelings Daisy harbored for the redhead Alfred. Then looking over at him, she frowned, "But your a footman. You bring food up, not make it."

"If you know what's good for you," Mrs. Patmore chuckled, vigorously whisking some egg whites in a dull metal bowl, her huge forearm flexing and shuddering. Alfred turned back to Daisy.

"Please. I only want some tips and tricks."

"But why?"

"Because i'm leaving."

"You never! Oh Alfred, you can't mean that." Daisy felt quite faint in the hustle and bustle of the kitchen. Alfred? Leave?

"Where would you go?"

"London...Paris maybe. I can apprentice myself to a chef. I don't want to be a footman anymore, I want to be something better..." Alfred was interrupted as The Lady Dutchess Dowager hobbled into the room. Her ivory and ebony cane clicked smartly on the granite. All the servants rose.

"Oh my," The dowager moaned, "Is this a revolution of the footmen? Should I count the spoons? 'Want to be something better'?" She said the words with an undeniable acid. Alfred looked down. Daisy and Ivy hand to work at keeping straight faces.

"Do you need anything, my lady?" Asked Mrs. Hughes in the awkward pause that followed. Carson was too busy looking daggers at poor Alfred.

"Well," She wheezed, " I was going to relay some information to you concerning Mr. Crawly,"

"We know already," Mr. Carson told the old lady, "No need to voice the painful word again."

"Know what?" Demanded one of the cockyer busboys.

"Oh, Mr. Crawley had an accident, I'm sure Carson can fill in from there. He just needs a little prompting all." It was the head butlers turn to have daggers looked at him. The dowager turned, with airy dignity that she managed to keep up even in the poorly lit and scantily clad servants hall.

Mr. Carson filled in the gaps to the bare minimum. He felt it somehow was a violation of the Mr. Crawley's privacy to tell every nobody busboy and kitchen maid his business.

"Do you think...He'll be ok?" Daisy asked her friends, rolling out a pie crust she had just started with more than the called for concentration after mr. Carson had left.

"I don't know. A car sounds pretty bad, but the doctor is good, Daisy. I bet Mr. Crawly will heal in spite of himself. The idea still made the little girls insides quiver like a christmas pudding. She silently resolved never to ride in a car.

Mr. Bates slowly, painstakingly, made minute stitches in lord Grantham's red blazer. It had ripped a little last night as he had been taking it off, and Mr. Bates wanted it mended in time for the next supper. And the dressing gong was going to ring soon. As he was sewing, Tina, one of the other house maids came in.

"Oh, Mr. Bates! I didn't realize you were in here!" She giggled,

"Yes."

"Oh! I almost forgot! You must be just so thrilled!" (Hysterical mirth) "What good news!" She was almost jumping up and down. But upon seeing his face, hers fell, "Oh, my! Anna hasn't told you yet!"

"What, exactly, Ms. Tailor?"

"I promised I wouldn't tell a soul! Oh my! Silly me. My lips are sealed!" She made the ridiculous motion of zippering her lips shut at Mr. Bates, then scurried out of the room, giggling even louder than before, her dusting feather swinging wildly around. Poor flirt, Mr. Bates thought with a sigh.

But what was this about Anna? Mr. Bates looked back down at the rip, which had shrunk considerably. If he whip stitched the rest, he could still have time to go and find his wife. Find out what all this was about.

He found the petite blonde woman ironing bed sheets in the servants hall, standing next to the wood stove so she could heat several irons at once.

"I've been talking to Ms. Tailor." Mr. Bates stepped in the room. The servants hall was large, comfortable, and on nice afternoons, sunny. Today the sun shone in and lit up the whole room, including Anna's incredibly golden head of hair.

"Oh?" Anna asked without looking up. She has gotten to the seam of the sheet and that took extra care.

"Yes. She tell's me you might have something to tell me."

"Well,...Ms. Hughes found us a picture in the old servants attic that might go nicely in our new living room. Its red and blue so it will go with the-"

"No, no." Mr. Bates cut her off. "Anything more important?"

"I honestly don't know what you are talking about, John." She was looking down again, even though she was in the middle of the sheet.

"I wish you would come away with us," Sybil let her hand rest on Mary's shoulder. Her glove was wet with tears and it made a little mark on Mary's blazer. Mary had changed but once in the last week. Only today requesting that Sybil bring something down with her. "I want to look nice when Matthew comes too," She had said with a little smile. But it was a sad one. Sybil rubbed her sister a little on the back. "You've been sitting all day, and last night you were here too. Come home for a rest and a meal. You can come back in the morning."

"No. I'll be in the hospital all night wherever i choose to sleep." Mary wavered. Sybil sighed. Mary simply could not do this. It wasn't going to work for her to just sit in the hospital all the rest of her days. Sybil realized what she was saying. Mary wouldn't be here for the rest of her days. Matthew would wake up. And he would soon. Pessimism never built any roads. But still...It might take weeks.

"What if we took the sick man home with us?" Tom spoke for the first time all afternoon. He had been quiet for the whole time, Sybil was quite suspicious that he was trying to keep from crying.

It was jarring something awful to look into the face of a man who wasn't quite dead but wasn't quite alive. Mary looked up for the first time all day, looked up from her husbands face.

"Do you think they would let us?" Her hand moved toward her brother in laws.

"Maybe. Nothing a little pressured coaxing can't achieve, lady Mary." Tom realized with solomon amusement that Mary didn't care that the former chauffeur had just addressed her as a sister. Which, in essence, was their relationship, but that was only considering the simplest terms. Sybil grabbed her husbands hand and they ran off to go find the doctor. As their footsteps echoed off, Mary felt quite alone.

They found him in his office, filling out some dry looking papers.

"Doctor," Tom spoke first, "You have to release Mathew." Sybil cringed. They would have to work on smooth talking.

"You have seen Mary spending all her time here. Its killing her." Sybil tried to backpedal and appeal to the doctor better nature.

"What do you propose i do about this, Lady Sybil?" The doctor frowned a little chilly and stared at the girl. "Surely not let a man in critical condition leave the safety of my equipment."

"It would just be to Downton Abbey," Tom frowned.

"Who would notice if he were to die suddenly...or if he were to suddenly get worse? What if he needed immediate attention?" The doctor was now standing behind his desk, voice so intense it threatened to burn a hole through Sybil. Someone is feeling undervalued, she realized intuitively.

"We appreciate all that you have done for him. I honestly don't know of anyone, London to Paris, who could have done a better job. But we could hire a nurse to stay with him, and between her and Mary, i am sure nothing would go unchecked." The doctor realized his whole argument had just been scooped. He sighed.

"It might be possible. But i'm warning you, there are many risks involved. They quite outweigh any benefits. I don't like the idea of any patient being released that cannot walk on his own...that cannot even eat on his own! But, you have my permission to do as you see fit. He started savagely signing letters. Sybil had once heard from her risque english cousin that American children sometimes slapped their palms together victoriously in a 'high five'.

She spontaneously felt like doing one with her husband now, but she suppressed the acute feeling until they were out of the office, and in the echoing hallway. Then she sent her hand flying toward Tom's. He, thinking she was going to strike him, started to ducked and put up his arms bewildered. Then he got it, and connected it with Sybils. It made quite the noise. Both took a second to wring out there hands. Was it supposed to hurt that much? But both were laughing. It felt so fresh to have good news and happy moments in a time of...well...kind of death.

Thomas blew a stream of smoke from his nose.

"So i hear Alfred wants to travel."

"I suppose so." Mrs. O'Brien, muttered, dragging in slowly on her cigarette. The tip glowed red. Alfred was her sister's red haired son. "What's it to you?"

"I could ask you the same thing." Thomas replied shortly. Eying his lady confident slyly.

O'Brien was by no means nice to look at. And thats all there was to be said about that. But her mind was sharper than freshly sharpened razor. You just can't have it all, Thomas thought dryly, sucking in again. Thomas was tall, lean, and pale. He was in fact handsome in a devilish sort of way, but not the type your mother would exactly like to see you courting. Of course, he wasn't interested in courting women though. Miss. O' Brien chuckled to herself. No, you can't go falling in love with Thomas Barrow.

"I wonder what ol' Carson has to say on the subject." He said it in a way that could have easily been accompanied by laughter, but wasn't.

"Search me. He never even told me until last night."

"I hear he's got something scraped up in Paris. Going to go learn from the chefs i think. I can't see what's off about being a footman though."

"I can." Was all Thomas said.

"Oh Edith, a letter for you," Lady Grantham reached across the table to hand her middle daughter a letter. All eyes lingered on her (excepting Mary's, who was, of course, absent from the leisurely morning meal). Cheeks coloring, she reached for the opener laying idaly on the table cloth. It was news when Edith got a letter. With her two sandwiching sisters all happily married off, well, lets just say there was a lot of pressure.

The writing was in rather fine calligraphy. With the bright light filtering in the ornate bay windows from the east, Edith felt happiness lay an egg in her heart. Even as she read, she felt the eyes of the others on her. She knew she would have to say something.

"Its from a friend." She promptly started eating the second course of her breakfast which had just been set in front of her. Eggs speckled with black pepper and electronically toasted bread. All was silent for a second. Then Granny said,

"You seem to make a lot of friends my dear."

Edith chose to ignore that comment.

Then Sybil, choosing her words with care, asked,

"What sort of friend? The same one we met at uncle Shrimpies in Scotland?" The man servant came and started clearing plates away.

"No." Edith said, cooly cutting her yolks into separable slices. When they first met, she had been flustered, but now she felt calm and happy. She had a few night to think it over, and she decided she might as well try out a middle class man. And why not? If Sybil could do it, she certainly could too.

"Is he...?" Cora let her question trail off. Lord Grantham folded down his newspaper to look better at his daughter.

"I'm not positive at how well established he is." Edith stated boldly, "But hes not middle class."

"Hes not higher class though," Robert frowned. This pained him. "What does this man write?"

"George writes that he hopes we will meet again soon, and that i am doing well,"

"And? Men don't just write to check in." Sybil pointed out. A footman came up behind her to re-fill her jasmine tea.

"This one does. You may read it if you like." She handed the folded parchment paper over.

"How queer." Her eyebrows folded together.

"I think this is just his way of saying hes thinking of you and wants to get to know you better. He just doesn't have a huge manson to invite you all to." this surprised everybody, for Tom had been unusually quiet that morning. Perhaps it was just because they were having his favorite eggs and kippers though. Edith silently cursed him. Of course she knew that. But her mother and father didn't. They might put a stop to it now. That was something Edith certainly didn't want.

"I'm going," Alfred started walking forward, Ivy and Daisy stood stunned. They had just gone out to fetch some anise from the stores, and encountered Alfred, all decked out in the only suit he owned. It was at least three inches too short on the sleeves. The late summers breeze tickled Daisy's arms.

"Wait, Alfred!" She ran to him, not really sure what she hoped to gain. "I-I never kissed you goodbye." She held his thick arms. All the hair on her neck was at perfect attention. Her heart would not have stopped racing for the king and his procession. Not really quite certain if she was still in the same body, the young cooks helper lifted up her feet until she was standing on her toes, heels in the air, and put her lips to the skin right under his right ear. He stiffened. The spell broke and Daisy felt her face redden. She pulled back almost too quickly. To cover her blunder, she adjusted his tie at arms length.

"You look all ready to go," She looked up to see if Alfreds grey-hazel eyes were on her, but they weren't. They were staring over her head.

"Ivy, won't you come give me a parting goodbye?"

"I already did." She looked away.

"No. A handshake isn't a proper one."

"She doesn't have to if she doesn't want to," Daisy frowned at Alfred. Even though she couldn't see why Ivy would turn down that sort of thing. The three stood awkwardly, the birds chirping and the morning june bugs belting out there squeaky music. Then Alfred turned abruptly, and walked away from his job, his aunt, and his life.

"Goodbye Alfred," Daisy called after him, when she thought she was about to lose sight of him. Her heart felt smashed.

"We ought to tell Carson, don't you think?" Ivy asked, tears hinting at her voice. For even if she didn't have feelings for Alfred, didn't mean she wasn't fond of him. Daisy nodded, massaging the base of her neck. They hurried inside.

"Well it took you long enough!" Mrs. Patmore frowned as she snatched away the spice from the girls hands. "Its been nearly fifteen minutes! What were you doing? Trying to glue humpty dumpty back together?"

"No!" Cried Daisy, who had re-gained about half of her composure, "Its Alfred, he's stolen away, and he walked off and won't say where!"

"God Almighty!" Mrs. Patmore exclaimed, throwing the seeds into the air, "Mr. Carson knows of this i hope!"

"Thats the thing Ma'am, we don't know!" Ivy managed in. All three cooks made there way to Mr. Carson's office and all tried to squeeze in the door at once. He looked up from the red wine he had been filtering with a cheese cloth, alarmed.

"Ladies! What is the meaning of this?"

"Mr. Carson, I just wanted to be sure you knew about Alfreds leaving," Ms. Patmore wheezed.

Them Carson stood up sharply.

"No, i have not heard of this. When did he leave?"

"Just a few moments ago," Daisy burst out. She was just about to burst into tears, right in front of the head butler, when Thomas sauntered in, a slip of paper in between his sharply gloved finger (he had to wear one always on his right hand, after he was injured at war). Carson exhaled deeply.

"Thought this might be of interest to you, sir," Thomas tilted his head to the side. Carson strode over and plucked it out of the note out of Thomas's hand. He read the letter, face turning redder and redder all through out, then he cast it aside, and grunted in that deep, low voice of his.

"Seem Alfred left us his resume. So thoughtful he didn't want to worry us about getting back to him. I'm going to go find Ms. Hughes." He clutched the note in his beefy fist and ran off.


	3. Chapter 3: Edith's predicament

Hi everyone!

Just found out that you have to do the authors note_ before_ publishing! (Yes, I'm just that slick:) Thank you all for the ravishing reviews! They really make my day. Hope you love the newest edition to my story! Its the second to last chapter, so things are really heating up.

"We've got several applications for the Mr. Crawley's nurse." Ms. Hughes informed Mary, poking her head in the bedroom where Mr. Crawly resided.

"Oh." The girl looked up. She had deep, deep bags under her eyes and for the first time Ms. Hughes could remember, the eldest Grantham girl looked utterly defeated. "Thank you, Ms. Hughes. I am sure you will make the right decision. I still don't think we need one though. Its not like i do anything else." She looked down at her fine pale hands. Ms. Hughes felt oddly embarrassed as she backed out of the room. As she was heading back to the servants hall, she saw Lady Edith passing with a special smile on her lips and a letter clutched in her slender hands.

"Guess what?" Edith burst through the door of the sick man's room. Mary looked sharply up.

"You know i don't enjoy guessing games, Edith."

"Well," Edith went on, pretending she didn't hear her sister, "I just had coffee with Gordon Breech!"

"Who?"

"You wouldn't know him," Edith said smugly. As if Mr. Breech were a king and not an editor.

"Edith, i think thats jolly good that you're developing friendships with those below us. But i think its time to stop looking for a man in the servants hall, so to speak." Edith frowned.

"You were a lot nicer when Matthew was still with us." Mary stood up.

"I would appreciate if you used the present tense," Mary replied cooly.

"If you ask me, bad drivers should just stay off the road. We have a chauffeur, you know." She turned on her shiny heel and left, well knowing that last remark was just a tad below the belt. But would it kill Mary to be happy once and awhile? God would think she would clammer at any reason. Sybil will be glad, Edith though, turning down another hallway. Sybil will care.

It was a glorious sunrise. That was the only time Mr. Bates and Anna could be together due to their demanding jobs. But that wa alright as they were used to waking up early. The sun was just about to rise, and the color of the sky was just breathtaking. Paired with the lush green of the farmers fields, it was enough to make you feel like crying. But of course both were very happy, as many newlyweds are.

Anna had put together a little breakfast picnic basket, and they lay out on the lawn, Anna wrapped in a light blanket to thwart the early chills, and ate berries in cold cream, luke warm toast and soft boiled eggs in chipped green egg cups that fell over if you didn't hold them upright.

"What would you say, if i told you i was pregnant?" Mrs. Bates asked suddenly. Mr. Bates was not surprised at all. But he didn't show it as he warmly answered,

"I would say those were the sweetest words i have heard since 'John Bates, you are released'."

Anna smiled warmly, but inside she shivered slightly. She wished John had not mentioned his brief and painful jail extravaganza with the english prison system. "So is this what you have been hiding from me?"

"I wanted to wait a month or two. I didn't want to get your hopes up. The doctor said there was more of a chance of me losing this one, just due to my age."

"25 is hardly old," Mr. Bates reached for his wifes face.

"You forgot to add ten years," she whispered before locking lips with him. They stayed that way a long while before Anna broke the spell.

"We'll be late if we don't hurry.

"Did you happen to see the nurse?" Mrs. O'brien scraped a match slowly along the side of a granite block and when flame took root, brought it to the tip of her cigarette.

Thomas shrugged.

"I can see why ol' Caron hired her they hired her." He let out a low whistle.

"I just hope she won't be eating with us." Was all Ms. O'brien said with grimus, "I can't stand it when the footman try to flirt."

"Good afternoon, my lady. My name is Sharon Everett." Sharon stepped quietly into the room where Matthew and Mary were. Mary got up as the nurse entered. Sharon immediately glanced down to the bed where Matthew was sleeping. He was handsome, she decided, even for a man in a comma. She wouldn't mind working next to a face like that. Mary and Sharon shook hands. Sharon looked into Mary's face and winced inwardly.

"I'm afraid i'm a disappointment to you, my lady."

"No, no. I was just expecting someone a little older." Mary said, hinting at something. Sharon was not surprised. She tucked a wisp of her chestnut brown hair back up under her starched nurses cap.

"I know what you mean, my lady. But i have lots of experience. I went to school at Plymouth and have worked at a front line hospital the last few years. Before that i served almost seven years at St. Johns Hospital in York." Sharon stated.

"Oh my. Don't you have any fun?" Mary asked rhetorically.

Sharon smiled.

"My work is fun, my lady."

Sybil and Tom lay in bed. It was nighttime, and the crickets chirped and squeaked methodically. The sheets were silky and wonderful against Sybils body. Sybil loved silk sheets. As soon as she finished saving up, she was going to buy some for their house in Dublin. Or maybe she could ask mama and papa to make a gift out of some. Tom wouldn't like that, but god knew they couldn't afford them on their own.

"Tom?" She whispered into the warm night.

"Yes?" He couldn't sleep either.

"What if Matthew doesn't pull through?" The question had been weighing like a ton of bricks on Sybils heart. Just voicing the words into the darkness seemed to cut away a few of the sandbags. Her husband reached for her, hands feeling for her in the inky darkness. There was no moon.

"There is no real knowing at this point. But I would be more concerned with Mary. If Matthew dies, he'll be with god, Mary will be in hell." Sybil hummed in agreement. Too emotional to say anything else. A few well carpeted hallways down, Lord and Lady Grantham were, coincidentally, having the same conversation.

"Robert, I know you don't want to talk about this..." Cora started looking up from her novel to her husbands face. The flickering candles played funny shadows on his face, making the her graying husband look tireder than he really was. "But Matthew might not wake up." The words hung in the air, and the atmosphere was that of when the last person stops laughing at a bad joke.

"Cora..." Lord Grantham rubbed his eyes, "Lets not be pessimists, if only for Mary's sake."

"This isn't pessimism." Lady Grantham told him firmly, "This is planning ahead. We cannot be caught with lots of hard decisions right when grief strikes,"

"If grief strikes." Robert turned his head sharply and blew out the candle.

"Just because you turned out the light doesn't mean i'm going to stop talking." Cora said. "Downton Abbey deserves to be looked after."

"I am trying to sleep," The lord informed his wife.

"Do you have the next heir in line? Have you checked him up with Mr. Bluther?" There was a shift of fabric on fabric as a pillow was brought on top of a tormented head. Cora sighed, then assumed a more gentle tone,

"Robert, i just don't want a lot of unnecessary quarreling.

"Then stop talking."

"Miss Edith," Gordon stood up with a screech of his wooden chair. Lady Edith had driven herself to the public house herself, in the manor's old buggy. She had told her mother he was meeting him, but only said to get coffee. Which she was. But her mother thought they would be going to somewhere equivalent to the New York Ritz. Not a pub. Given, it was a nice one. With clean windows and clean enough glasses and waiters that didn't look drunk.

"Mr. Breech," She started pulling off her short, plain gloves. She felt strangely and wonderfully at home in the bustling public house. It was as if her heart beat more to this rhythm than to the one of the refined. But it could just be the presence of fine Mr. Breech that made her more aware of her swiftly thumping vital organ.

"What'll it be today?" He popped open the menu for her. She loved the casual way he talked to her. No always bowing and scraping. That was one part of 'refined life' that she didn't really like.

"Coffee to start," She decided, adapting a little of the erratic tone of her 'friend'. She looked over at him. He, too, was consulting the menu, so she got a good chance to look him over. Timothy (for that was him his name), was short, had a small but fashionably roman nose. His hair was black and shiny. His hands large but not unseemingly. They were graceful and that helped a lot. He looked up.

"I was thinking." He murmured.

"Oh?"

"Yes. I have what you would call a, er, country house. I would be honored to welcome you to it, for an afternoon per say. You and, your mother...or brother?"

"Well..." That was all Miss Edith could manage out for a second. Blast! That would mean she would have to tell the man her true identity. But as most social people, she did not remain tounge tied for long.

"That sounds...lovely. I am sure i would love to. But of course i will have to check with my father."

"Of course," Edith lifted the coffee to her mouth, hiding her frown. She would find a way to do this. She could hardly decline. Oh well, she figured, things to think on later, right now she wasn't going to fret over things she couldn't change now.

"Tell me about your family," Said gordon. Danm. Guess she should start fretting.

"Well, I have two sisters and a mother and a father."

"No brothers?"

"No. No brothers." It was queer for her to say that as they had all come to think as Matthew as a brother of sorts. Thinking of the young damaged chap made Edith rather depressed.

"I fear i have upset you. Is something wrong?"

" No. Everything is fine. Now what shall we have for lunch?" She brought the tall stiff menu up to hide her face.

Mary held her husbands hand. She was sick. The smell of pickled turkey and oily rice, a plate that one of the maids had set out for her. Of course she wasn't going to touch it though. She never ate with the family and she knew the others worried. They had probably sent the food up. She took a cruel sort of satisfaction in it, though. She had eaten mere bites a day, mostly of fruit, or something else unsubstantial like that, making up the lost calories in Scotch. She hid the empty bottles under the bed. She didn't even want the maids seeing how much she drank every day.

"Wake up!" She asked of her husband in a soft, strangely dead voice. Something blurred her eyes, but it wasn't tears. Her tears were all gone. She hadn't cried for several days now. "Matthew, wake up." She mindlessly lifted his stiff fingers and bent them in. Then she bent them back out.

"Time to open your eyes," Her hand moved, suddenly violent, to her husband's gently closed eyelids. But her fingers slowed as they came within orbit of his body. Instead, she curved her palm around his face. The smell was now burning her nostrils, mixed with the scent of his unwashed skin. She reached for the table, fearing she would slide off the earth if the didn't.

Thats when she threw up.

Oh my lord, she thought. As if in a dream she went over to the rope hanging down the wall and pulled it, stumbling a little as she did, summoning a servant from downstairs. She leaned against the wall and tried to slow her heart. He eyes. Everything seemed to jump around in the strangest way, and when the door opened she had the acute sense that the whole room was flying apart in sections.

"Anna," She reached out a arm.

"Oh my god," Anna swore as she say Lady Mary crumple to the floor in a pool of vomit.

Usually Anna was quite unsettled by the stone like Mr. Crawly, but now she rushed to the side of her mistress with no regard to the man in the bed. Sharon had arrived as well when the bell had rung, thinking it had been because of Mr. Crawly.

"Shes suffering from shock and overindulgence. We need to get her into a bed." Sharon told Anna. The nurse was no fool. She saw the empty bottles and the drained cups. She knew it was only a matter of time before something like this happened. She had always dreamed of this day, when she would be faced with some dire situation and she, Sharon, would know exactly what to do. It was less fun than she had imagined. She had always hoped it would be with something serious, like a war victim. Not a drunken rich lady.

Lady Mary was easy to lift, for the few extra pounds she had, she shed in the last few weeks. It was rather like lifting an old woman, Sharon thought with a grimace. They lay her down in her big bed, her downy comforter poofing up, almost enveloping her. After a lengthy walk down half the building.

Sharon started to strip the lady of her things so she could examine her. Anna stopped her.

"Lets call the doctor."

"Why? I can do it. We just need some salts." Sharon couldn't believe her ears.

"I think we should call the doctor. You never know..."

Sharon's eyes filled with tears. She was only twenty. She didn't understand why Anna didn't trust her. She didn't understand. She was a certified nurse! She was capable as any doctor.

Alfreds head hurt. That was not good. He must have had a bit too much to drink last night, he thought dazedly, sitting up in his bed. Well, it wasn't much of a bed. It was at least five inches too small for him.

"Bloody..." His head gave a resounding throb and he bounced back, smaking his head on the metal headboard. "Hell..." He whispered into the dank air. Paris was nothing like what he thought it would be. He had yet to find a job, as no one wanted anyone without experience, and as of late, he was pretty much living off of crackers and booze. The liquor being of rather horrid quality as it was brewed by the man down the hall in the cramped boarding house he was currently situated in. Alfred found himself spending more and more time with the old man, in his equally cramped quarters, made even more so by the huge steel beerholder the crazy man had installed ages ago. The whole place was carpeted in a thick layer of dust. His aunt would probably go into conniptions if she saw the way he was. But he wasn't going back. He wasn't giving anyone the satisfaction.

You see, Alfred had this idea that everyone back in the ol' Downton dungeon was hanging on his every letter he wrote. He had so far written two letters, one addressed to Mrs. O' Brien and one to Miss. Ivy Long. He thought about sending one to Daisy too, but he never found the time. He pictured that everyone chided these two lucky recevents for information, and he was talked in length about in the servants hall. These dreams could not have been more false. With Mr. Crawley in the way he was, there was little time for much else. Alfred hugged the pillow to his face and focused on the little splotches of light behind his eyelids until it hurt. He never didn't realize how much trouble Mr. Carson had kept him from. The old coot.

"She'll be ok," The doctor came out of lady Mary's room after a long time. Or so it seemed to lord Grantham. He almost sank into the chair next to him. Matthew was bad enough, but a daughter on top of that, well that would have just been rubbing salt in the wound.

"Oh Sybil, I think he just might be the one!" Edith reached across the table to clasp her sisters hands.

"You know that with Matthew the way he is, its not exactly the right time to be trying to reel in a man." Sybil told her gently.

"Oh, i know. And i didn't try. He just popped in!" She giggled a little. Sybil slowly slid the spirit bottle away from her older sister. Edith giggled again. "Oh, its not that, i've only had two shots. I'm drunk with love, sister. Love."

"Are you sure he returns the feelings?" Sybil touched Ediths gloves softly. "He isn't playing you, is he?"

"'I'm surprised at you." Edith said, pouring herself another drink from a different bottle. "But i guess you have the right. You've never met him." She plopped in ice and stirred pensively.

"Oh Edith. Something feels wrong," Sybil squeezed her fingers. "Are you sure about this? About all of this?"

"And why? Because hes working class? You married Branson didn't you? He made you pretty happy, no?" She looked strait into Sybil's soft brown eyes.

"Its Tom. But we all knew him. We all know his character. It just seems different. You sneaking off twice a week to be with a man not even father knows. Its quite the scandal." she shrugged matter of factly.

"Well, we all knew Branson as our _cheveux_. And just because you don't know him doesn't mean i don't." She swirled down the rest of her drink and set it down, ice clinking violently.

"I do miss Matthew." She non sequitured. "He would have helped me. Can't say i'm sorry that Mary's having such issues though. Don't give a damn about her."

Sybil was about to make an indignant remark, but then she thought better. "Edith, are you feeling alright." Sybil looked into Edith's eyes and saw they were clouded.

"She's so happily married, lets drink to that." Edith jerked the booze into the air and in doing so, baptized herself in alcohol. Sybil ran to her sister and pried the cup from her hands. The whole room suddenly smelled of rum and something dank and worrisome.

"Lets go to bed." She tried to lead her unstable sister out of the room.

"Timothy will ask, someday, i know." Was the last thing Edith said before falling into a faint. Tears slowly ran down her face. Sybil was not at all alarmed, Edith was under a lot of presser now days. She almost felt bad for her, even though that had been a horrid thing to say. She brought the middle sister to the respective bedroom. Sybil always had liked Edith's room better than her own, she thought as she pushed the door open and bounced Edith onto the impossibly soft and cushy bed. Kind hearted Sybil changed her unconscious sister into the frilly bow kissed night gown and lay her to rest, thoughtfully putting the sheet at Edith's waist, so she would not sweat to death in the early august swelter that made itself especially apparent in the ink of the night.


	4. Chapter 4

Hi everyone! This is the wrap up chapter for A Tragedy at Downton. I was flattered by the kind reviews and tips you gave me. Thank you. I hope you like the ending,

i did have to think about it a while. Oh yes, and in September or late August my next story will come out. It picks up from where this one leaves off. It will be called

"Downton Abbey: Rose Comes To Downton". I'm pretty excited to show it to you.

Love&peace&joy!

"Look!" Anna proudly stood back a second to examine her handy work. Rain pounded the window. They were originally going to go for a walk that night, but due to weather concerns they decided to prepare for the baby instead.

"I see you're looking for a girl." Mr. Bates observed peering over as he smoothed over some drips on his own masterpiece. Anna had picked up a cradle, high chair, and changing caddy at a flea market in Stockton a few days ago. Mrs. Hughes managed to find them a few half empty cans of paint in the attic to spiff them up (as the articles were in quite a sorry state).

Mr. Bates had selected a deep blue paint called 'Navy Award'(the same colour one of the servant's bedroom was) to paint the chair, and Mrs. Bates decided on a pale yellow, 'Lemon Curd', for the crib.

"Yellow could be a boy's colour." She retorted with a smile, re-dipping her bristly brush in the happy hue.

"I still can't believe it Anna." He said reverently, "Me. A father!" What sounded like a tree limb went crashing down outside.

"I can believe it." Anna grinned and patted her stomach. "I've been eating like a pig all week! More than the footmen sometimes."

"What about names. Have you given it any thought?"

"If its a boy..." She paused to consider. The wind howled through the cracks on the wall.

"What about Alfred? In Honor of our dear fled friend?"

"You're just terrible John Bates! If its a boy it shall be John."

"And if its a girl it can be Anna."

"You dolt. If its a girl it will be Kleeton and there is nothing you can do about it!" Then she proceeded to paint a dot of Lemon Curd on the tip of his nose.

Sybil loved the city. Truth be told, she liked it in their cramped Dublin apartment better than in any spacious room in Downton Abbey. She liked the sounds of autos and voices, the smells of gasoline and the clean smell of fresh laundry out to dry, and she liked the way something was always going on. It reminded her that no matter how large her troubles seemed, life just kept on going.

Tom and her had decided to take an afternoon in York with the baby. Everyone in Downton was sullen and grieving. The youngest Grantham daughter just needed a rest from it all. As the cozy family unit strolled down the wide sidewalks Sybil felt her mind clearing. They stopped in a park and Branson bought two cones of ice cream-Chocolate for her, Raspberry Swirl for him. The ice cream man even gave a little cup of Vanilla Bean to little Sibby in exchange for a hiccupy giggle and toothy smile. A newsboy sauntered by as they were eating, screaming his headline in that board droll newsies do.

"Ripon news paper editor killed in fatal tree accident! Ripon Editor! Only $.50 each!"

"Tom! You have to get one!" She told him suddenly.

"Why? Well get a copy tomorrow." He asked, licking his cone all the way around to stop the drips.

"I'll tell you later. But you must get one! Please Tom!" She grabbed his arm.

"Alright." They got in a cab 15 minutes later, racing back to the manner, wadded up newspaper tucked securely under lady Sybil's arm.

"Edith's 'friend' is the editor. And they are rather romantically involved. She hasn't told anyone he's an editor because thats not as stately as...say a Lord. I don't know." The wind rushed about them as the auto took a turn. Sybil read frantically. The baby cooed and played with its fathers hair.

"At midnight on August 23, Editor of The Ripon Post is crushed in his car under the weight of a fallen oak on Timberland boulevard in east Ripon. The city was scheduled to take down the tree later that month, due to the threat they knew it posed. The family has taken no action so forth to sue the city, however..." Sybil trailed off as the  
baby started to wail.

Sybil was in the front door before the cabby could even pull away. The skidded along the lush carpets in her high heeled kid boots, wondering just how she was going to phrase it. Edith never had good luck with men. After one sutor ran away, she was then jilted at the alter. Sybil worried that this would completely drive her sister off the cliff.

The arrived at the door and knocked three times before letting herself in anyway. Anna was setting Ediths curls for supper.

"Anna, i am going to have to ask you to leave. And Edith, I have something I just have to tell you."

Matthew Crawly opened his eyes. Well, he tried to, but they were stuck together with something sticky. Slowly he brought up his knees curving his elbows, and finally, cracking his back. He cried out in hazy agonie. He felt like and unwound machine. He became aware of a sharp, unignorable pain in his near ear, just above it actually. When he caressed the spot, he felt stitches. All he could think of was Mary.

He tried to get up out of the bed, but his knees buckled and he fell face first into the soft rug. 'Must...see...mary..." His brain slowly beat. "I have to get up..."

Sharon poked open the white painted door with her foot, humming to herself softly and holding a pile of freshly laundered bed clothes. When she saw the fallen Mr. Crawley, she screamed because she thought he was dead. That didn't make sense (why would he fall out of bed if he were dying?) but that's what she thought.

She dropped her pile and ran to take a pulse, then tried to heave him back into bed. At this he groaned and she made a little cluck of surprise.

"Mr. Crawly, are you awake?" She demanded.

He moaned again.

"God almighty!" She exclaimed before running out of the room. She returned moments later with a half excited half suspicious Mary Crawly.

"Matthew." She whispered when she saw him. Barely daring to hope. To believe.

"Maaahhhhhy." He murmured. Still unable to open his eyes or speak the king's english. Quite the crowed of people were pushing in the doorway now. Mrs. and Mr. Grantham, The Dowager, Isobel, Carson, Tom, and even little Daisy. There was a clamor of excitement. Matthew was propped up in a chair with some embossed pillows and Daisy rushed downstairs to tell the others and to brew the invalid some nettle tea. Mary knelt by her husband's knees and covered his hands in dark red kisses and salty tears. Carson called up the doctor. Everyone patted him on the back, and Sharon put a hot dish towel on his eyes so he could open them. His eyes were red, irritated, but very happy when he remembered how to smile.

They all started to talk to him at once, expecting him to be able to comprehend and answer, when high pitched, agonized, horrid screaming pierced the air like a knife through a balloon.

"NO SYBIL! NO! TELL ME ITS NOT SO, SYBIL!"

More screaming. Wild and fearful.

There was the sound of shattering glass.

And then all was silent.

That wraps up that. Thank you so much for reading! Please tell me what you think :) And look out for my next story! (All will be reveled!)


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